


Partialiter

by Pickoloh



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 02:02:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7021225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pickoloh/pseuds/Pickoloh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's best to let sleeping idols at three in the morning lie . . . Or is it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Partialiter

Ears still ringing, you step out of the concert hall. The audience was long gone, the orchestra members probably dozing off on their coach bus somewhere on the highway. It had been the closing night of a long series of concerts, and the conductor had gotten a little exciting, tacking on an entire piano concerto onto an already lengthy program. Regardless, who doesn’t love a little Rachmaninov in their life? The audience ate it up, practically jumping to their feet the minute the last overtones echoed away. You loved it, the way the tension in the hall slowly built up as the pieces progressed, tightening and coiling as chords went on and on, raining dissonance and tension until finally the violins fucking resolve and it’s like a breath of fresh air for everyone in the space. 

Afterwards, there was always mingling and talking. The conductor is almost always immediately swarmed by fawning family members and busloads of babbling undergraduates from the closest conservatories and music schools. Always hundreds of questions. How did you decide on the tempo marking for that specific movement? Was that separation before the final cadence intentional? Of course, there’s always the classic Did you sightread it perfectly? whose answer is always consistently No. A professional orchestra is 9 times out of 10 going to sound better than you, and that final 10th time is reserved for sight-reading sessions, and sectionals while drunk. Just as a public service announcement, never get the brass section drunk in the same room. Never. Just, don’t. The trombones are going to want to murder the trumpets before you can so much as blink, and then you’ll have the french horns complaining as you’re struggling to pry someone’s spit valve from between someone else’s teeth. 

Of course, as the assistant conductor, a lot of those sorts of jobs fall to you. When you’re not organizing sheet music and analyzing scores, you’re left to do basically anything else that the conductor and section leaders need you to. This, inevitably leads to late nights, especially on concert evenings. This particular night, there had been a lot of food and a lot of streamers and way too many people, leading to you being one of the last people out of the building. Glancing at your watch, you click your tongue at the neon green ‘2:00 AM’ blinking back at you. The air was humid, and the weather app on your phone had predicted rain. You hadn’t thought to bring a rain jacket since you hadn’t exactly expected to still be here at this hour, but oh well. You learn something new every day.

Sliding your headphones over your ears, you step onto the sidewalk. You had hitched a ride to the concert with an usher who had gotten so drunk that they needed to go home early, so your only option left was public transit. Lucky for you, there was a bus stop close by, and your apartment aligned with the few routes that still ran this late at night. 

Less lucky for you, the rain starts before you actually get to the bus stop.

As the droplets begin to fall, you reach around and readjust the zipper of your backpack, making sure that the sheet music you’re toting around won’t get wet. It costs more than a month of rent. You tug your hood on as it really starts to pour, tucking your chin into your scarf and increasing your walking speed. You usually quite enjoy the rain, but in this case, you’re just tired and want to go to bed. So you half jog, half sprint until you finally spot the bright blue sign for a bus stop, ducking under the cover of the sitting area and throwing your hood back. You move to sit down on the bench but stop in your tracks when you spot someone already there. Although you’re a little surprised that someone’s here this late, that’s not what has your heartbeat spiraling out of control. No. 

It’s the fact that sitting on that metal bench, dozing, is none other than Byun Baekhyun.

You have to blink a few times, interspaced with some squinting and rubbing of your eyes, to truly convince yourself that it’s who you think it is. He’s wrapped up in a long, dark grey coat, and a black scarf woven around the lower half of his face. The give away is his shock of slightly faded pink hair, and you’re a little surprised he hasn’t made more of an effort to hide it. Though a quick scan of his surroundings reveals that he did, in fact, try, and fail: a black beanie sits on the ground. Unsure of what exactly to do, you poke your head out of the shelter, looking up and down the street. It’s completely deserted, save for the yellow street lights and the occasional passing car. Looking around for a final time, you crouch down and pick up his beanie, brushing it off and standing up. There’s a little space left on the bench, and you sit down on the very edge, giving the idol a wide berth. The last thing he needs at this time of night is to be bothered, if he’s at the point where he’s dozing off in public. 

You steal glances at him every so often as you wait for the bus to arrive. It’s a little surreal to be sitting next to him. Although you wouldn’t call yourself a die hard fan, you’ve kept up with Exo over the years, enjoying their music but never attending a concert. The crowds of screaming girls, not to mention the stress of actually acquiring tickets, was enough to deter you from ever trying. Nevertheless, the fact that Baekhyun is sitting about two feet away from you has your heart rate up. Breathing is also a little difficult. 

Your grip on his beanie tightens as he makes a soft sound in his sleep, and you start to formulate a plan. When the bus arrives, you’re going to give his hat back, no big deal. You’re just gonna give it back. To his head. And then get on the bus. Nothing to it. Real simple. Place hat on Byun Baekhyun’s head and then get on a bus and ride away and act like you totally didn’t just see Byun Baekhyun and touch Byun Baekhyun’s hat and then maybe his head and his hair and oh my god what the fuck do I do. Does the average person have a contingency plan for this kind of thing? You sure didn’t. It was two in the morning and you were exhausted and why wasn’t he in his dorm or in his practice room or somewhere not right next to you and sending your mind into overdrive. 

Of course, the universe is not a kind place. It doesn’t provide you with answers. It just leaves you to stew in your panic as you realize that Byun Baekhyun is fucking waking up. You swallow, digging your fingers into the fabric of his beanie and staring at the ground as he lefts out a muffled groan. He sits up slowly, adjusting his posture and rolling his head a couple of times until his neck cracks. It is at this point that he notices that he is no longer alone, and glances at you. Your ears are red and your hands are practically balled into fists, but you’ve managed not to look at him. You continue not to look at him as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. A couple of minutes pass without him saying anything, and you slowly let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. 

The steady sound of the rain against the roof works at calming your heart rate as you realize that this situation isn’t as dire as you first thought. The two of you are simply tired people waiting to get home. One of you just happens to be internationally famous. You spend the rest of your time together in silence, and eventually, when it’s your turn to start dozing, you hear the telltale hiss of public transit chugging up the street. You stand up, adjusting your grip on your backpack, and pull your hood on again, obscuring Baekhyun from your vision. As soon as the bus slows to a stop and opens its doors, you make a beeline for the back, flashing your pass to the sleepy-looking bus driver. You practically throw yourself into the window seat, letting your head fall against the cool glass and your eyes unfocused just slightly. The evening lights glitter in the distance as the bus rumbles into gear, and resumes its leisurely pace. 

“So are you going to give me my hat back, or . . . ?”

A smooth voice pulls you out your reverie. You blink, refocusing and glancing around you. Immediately you notice a familiar pink-haired boy. Sitting right in front of you. Looking at you. At your face. Speaking words to you. Reaching over the seats and pointing at your hands. Your eyes follow his gesture and you realize that you’ve still got his beanie in a death grip. Your eyes widen, and in your panic, you do the only thing that any sane person does: yell, throw the beanie at him, and cover your face with your hands. 

A solid minute of silence passes, and the only thing you hear is the thundering of your heartbeat in your ears and the steady rumble of public transit. As you process what just happened, you don’t dare remove your hands from your face. You threw a hat at an idol. His own hat, to be exact. You stole an idol’s hat and then threw it at him when he asked for it back. You’re waiting for the reprimand, for the complaint of disrespect, but you hear nothing. 

Slowly you part your fingers and stare through the gaps. Baekhyun is resting his chin on his hands and staring at you with a smile on his face. You gulp, squeezing your fingers together again, his beautiful face disappearing from your view.

“You know I can see you, right,” he says, his voice dripping with amusement.

“I am hyperaware of that, yes,” you respond, trying to hide the shake in your voice with negative results.

He laughs softly, and you acquiesce with a sigh. You let your hands drop slowly and stare at the young man in front of you.

“You’re Byun Baekhyun,” you say slowly. He wiggles his eyebrows at you, flashing a big grin.

“Indeed I am.”

“You’re an idol,” you continue. He nods sagely, stroking his chin for further effect.

“Also correct.”

“You were asleep at a bus stop at two in the morning.” 

He pauses, cocking his head. Eventually he shrugs.

“Yeah, I was.” 

He simply smiles at you again. And in the absurdity of the situation, you can’t help it. You smile back at him, a small laugh bubbling up from your chest. His eyes light up, and he laughs in return. The timbre of his voice makes you shiver, and your heart flutters for a second. It really is true what they say. They’re much more attractive in person. Even here, in the dead of night on a dark bus, without a trace of makeup on his face and weary circles under his eyes, Baekhyun is beautiful. 

You let your head fall back against the head rest, exhaling slowly. You adjust the backpack in the seat next to you, unzipping it and peeking inside to make sure that none of the sheet music got damaged. You furrow your brows when you see the very top of a master score looks a little warped, and you slide it out carefully, holding it by the light of the window. You let out a sigh of relief when you realize that it really is just the very top border of the paper. The notation itself is fine. Baekhyun’s eyes widen a little when he sees what you’re holding.

“Are you a musician as well,” he asks, sounding happy. You glance up at him. You’d never really thought about it, but the two of you are connected through musical performance. Huh. 

“I am. But tonight I was an assistant conductor. We had our final concert of the season,” you explain.

“Could I look at the score,” he asks, eyes big. Your eyebrows shoot up and for a second you don’t know how to respond. But then you’re nodding, handing him the score and watching his reaction carefully. His eyes jump across the page, taking in your carefully handwritten notes and markings. He flips the score open, following the measures along for some time, until finally blinking, closing it gently, and handing it back to you. His eyes are wide and he can’t seem to stop grinning.

“That’s incredible,” he muses. He really does sound impressed. You flush, replacing it in your backpack and zipping it closed. 

“I could say the same about what you do,” you respond softly, smiling. He bows quickly, the thank you slipping from his lips in an instant.

“They’re very different performance arts. There’s beauty in both of them,” you say, meeting his warm eyes as he raises his head. He nods, still smiling.

Eventually you hear the familiar ding signaling that the bus is stopping. You glance out the window, realizing that this is your stop. Your chest constricts, and you suddenly realize that you’ve experienced something you’ll probably never experience again. With your heart in your throat, you scoot out of your seat, grabbing your back and hitching it onto your shoulder. In one smooth motion, you bow deeply to Baekhyun. His eyes widen and he scrambles to his feet.

“What are you-“

“Thank you so much for taking the time to talk to me. I know I’m simply a fan. I didn’t mean to interrupt your time to yourself, which is precious enough as it is. I’d also like to apologize for taking your hat. It was never my intention to steal it, I was going to-“ your voice is muffled by said beanie being pressed against your mouth. You stand up, a confused expression on your face, only to be met with a grateful looking Baekhyun.

“Don’t apologize. We’ve both had long days. I appreciated the change in pace.” He pauses for a second, feet shuffling. He chews his lip, then looks at you with renewed vigor, a smile tugging at his lips. He puts the beanie on your head, tugging it down over your ears.

“Oh no. Looks like I forgot my hat on the bus and a kind samaritan picked it up for me,” he says in a very dramatic voice, gesturing with his hands.

You are confused.

“I’d very much like to get my hat back. How in the world would I do that,” he shrugs, exaggerating his motions.

You are still confused.

He snickers, then grabs your hand and whips out a pen, scribbling something on your palm with a flourish. He pockets the pen, then pushes you out the door, waving. You’re bewildered, and your heart squeezes painfully as you watch the bus doors close, taking the smiling Baekhyun away. Shaking your head, you squint to look at your palm. He’s scribbled a bunch of numbers, along with a message.

“Let me know the next time you have a concert. Also you can ‘return’ my beanie.”

It takes you about 20 seconds to process, and then it hits you.

You just got Byun Baekhyun’s number.


End file.
